[ Headlines: "Local terrorist walks outside with his junk fully exposed, gets caught by Waterdhavian guards. Wizard friend does not post bail." Iorveth laughs at the thought of it, and how ignoble it would be if that was the reason the Woodland Fox finally got manacles clapped on him again, but. You know. Might be interesting.
It's fine, he thinks, if Astarion doesn't have grand goals. He doesn't have to. The great thing about freedom is that you can use it to do whatever the hells you want, and after two hundred years of vacillating wildly between excessive torture and mind-shattering isolation, it's reasonable to want to just. Do nothing.
The problem is Iorveth. (It always tends to play out that way.) Antsy, without purpose. A little terrified of being useless. He's put that fear in a box for now, happy in Astarion's company, but he knows it'll rear its ugly head soon enough. ]
...I'm going to trance a bit, to be more lucid for the evening. [ Admittedly tired from the hag shenanigans, still. His eye closes, and he slowly relinquishes his hold on Astarion. ] If you wish to spend some time in the sun, I'll not keep you here.
[ The sun!! Still an amazing feat, as far as Iorveth is concerned. ]
[ Hesitant to be relinquished, Astarion reaches out to rub a thumb across Iorveth's cheek. ] You are my sun. [ And because he's in a very romantic mood, he doesn't even make a quip about Iorveth being the only thing he wants to be in. He kisses Iorveth on the cheek, disgustingly affectionate. ]
—But I suppose I could stand to start working on that tan.
[ He's going to look soooo healthy and not at all dead, just you wait. Astarion sits up, gingerly swinging his injured leg off of the mattress and standing. He limps over to the wardrobe, plucking a pair of pants from within its depths. Gods forbid he traumatize poor Gale by gallivanting around the place pantsless, and besides, he'd rather not show off his ugly bruises. ]
And perhaps I might peruse Gale's exorbitant collection of dusty old tomes. If there's anywhere a secret cure to mortality might be found, it's there.
[ The tan quip is always going to make Iorveth laugh, because it's so absurd. It's more likely that Astarion will get sunburnt in a way that has nothing to do with vampiric intolerance to light, and complain about it incessantly until Iorveth finds some lotion to rub on him. The most high-maintenance man in the world.
Unfortunately (?) for Iorveth, he loves Astarion and the fact that he can manifest drama out of anything (pot, kettle, etc.), so that's that. ]
I'll not entertain any cure that involves kissing Mystra's feet, [ or whatever weird freaky shit that Gale got up to, when he was her Chosen. Iorveth has heard of certain god-favored individuals living far past their natural lifespans, but Gods, not Mystra. ]
But, hm. [ A little wave of one hand, as he presses himself into pillows. Missing Astarion already, but comforted by the residual scent of him on their bedsheets. ] Go tell Gale the good news, love. He'll be in need of it.
[ He's going to be ecstatic. He might even give Astarion a hug, and be very sweet, and embarrass Astarion with glowing amounts of pure, unfiltered friendship. ]
[ It sounds like a gripe, complete with a dramatic groan, but Astarion can't suppress the upward turn of his mouth at the thought of Gale's entirely unselfish joy. He takes the cloak and slings it over his shoulders, tying it tightly so that it doesn't accidentally slide off. One last look at Iorveth, and—
He returns to the side of the bed to kiss him again, this time on the top of his head. Reginald definitely had a point about their codependence, but he's in no position to listen to it. He unlocks the door and leaves Iorveth to rest.
Gale does, in fact, hug him. Tightly, and Astarion makes a whole scene of pretending to be put out by it. Gale tears up a little, and Astarion pokes fun at that, too, although it's toothless. Afterward, he allows Gale to ask whatever questions he wishes, although he doesn't have many good answers for most of them, something Gale finds out when he asks a question about the Cloak of Dragomir and Astarion furrows his brow and says cloak of who?
He requests that Gale allow him to explore his library after that, but as he's hesitant to come right out and explain that he's looking for a way to cheat death, he simply says that he's interested in learning more about magic— and gods, is that a mistake. Gale comes back with a stack of books so high that he can barely see from behind them, explaining that it's a collection for beginner wizards — "Usually seven or eight years old, but the basic principles are invaluable no matter your age!"
By the time evening rolls around, Gale paces in front of him in the sitting room, launching into his third lecture on magic while Astarion can barely keep his eyes open. "Now, the Spellplague was a disaster heretofore never experienced by practitioners of the arcane arts. Cyric, as well as our good friend's former Lady, Shar herself— are you listening?" ]
[ Trancing without Astarion by his side turns out to be an interesting affair― a strange floating in liminal space, interspersed with occasional flashes of the past in varying degrees of nearness. The hag, Astarion in sunlight, his childhood, Isengrim.
When he finally pulls out of the trance's gauzelike haze, Iorveth feels... not well-rested, per se, but less liable to get a migraine from fatigue. He pulls a fresh set of clothes on, goes to the washroom to freshen up, and tidies up his appearance a bit: he toys with the idea of braiding his hair, and ultimately weaves one neat braid that sits primly over his left ear, framing the unmarred side of his face.
With that done, he puts on his usual scent and makes his way downstairs, where Gale is apparently celebrating Astarion's victory by torturing him. ]
He's not listening, [ Iorveth answers on Astarion's behalf, brow raised and lips arched in a small smile. ] But I see I'm interrupting something important. Perhaps I'll go for a walk.
I'm listening. [ A wave of the hand, dismissive. ] You said something about how great magic is.
[ Gale looks utterly devastated that the past hour of his yapping hasn't gotten through to Astarion in the slightest. "...Well, I suppose that's the thesis statement of all of this, but I can't help but feel you're sorely lacking in the details." ]
Ugh, details shmetails. You know I'm more of a 'big picture' thinker.
[ It's debatable whether he's a thinker at all, actually, but that's unimportant. Astarion turns his attention to Iorveth, gaze affectionate as it wanders over the little braid in Iorveth's hair. The sight warms his cold, dead heart. ]
[ Iorveth can't imagine how or why (mostly why) Astarion got Gale started on talking about the arcane, but he feels a little sorry for the wizard for being so summarily dismissed. Not sorry enough to keep himself from gravitating towards Astarion and combing through his hair, though. ]
Better now that you're near. [ Matter-of-factly; not even a line. Like noting the weather, or saying that water is wet. One more gentle pet, and he relinquishes the touch. ] I take it that Gale knows?
[ A question that improves Gale's mood, and lets him monologue grandly about how wonderful this all is, truly, and how deserved it is, and how it really is impressive that the cloak works, and how―
―Iorveth interrupts him, hand in the air and leaning against Astarion's armchair. ]
Astarion might have mentioned that he isn't pleased with the cloak's appearance.
[ Gale, stumbling over his unfinished statement, looks slightly taken aback. "You're worried about how the cloak looks? Truly?" ]
[ Poor Gale, continually bullied by two elves. On the other hand, though, he's being continually bullied by two elves that love him, so he could be worse off, surely. ]
Just look at it, Gale, and tell me that this is something you foresee me wearing every day for eternity.
[ "Granted," he says, "I doubt it will be winning any awards for fashion, but you must remember, this is an invaluable piece of arcane history—" ]
It's a hideous piece of arcane history. What am I supposed to do if it clashes with my outfit, Gale, turn to ash in the sun?
[ Gale gives him a flat look. "Surely you wouldn't rather burn to cinders than go outside wearing a clashing outfit." ]
Well, I don't know. I suppose that's just a risk we're all going to have to take, if you don't fix this issue.
[ "Are you saying you would rather die than be ugly" is such a stupid question when posed to Astarion: the answer is always going to be "uh, yeah". Gale should be glad to have two dramatic elves in his life to keep things interesting, honestly. ]
He will fix the issue, [ Iorveth states with authority, as if it's a foregone conclusion. It would have been a threat if he didn't like Gale as much as he does despite him being a human wizard― the worst kind of human, and the worst kind of wizard.
Gale looks a little offended at being spoken to that way, though, and Iorveth follows up with something less controversial (in his opinion) to smooth those wrinkles down. ]
I'll not allow my love to hide under a cloak for the rest of his days.
[ What's even the point of being able to daywalk if he has to be covered all the time? He'll never get the impossible tan he talks so much about if he has to be shrouded constantly. ]
[ Gale blinks a few times, exasperated. "You know, as much as I support you two finding some happiness in this world, sometimes I think that things were easier when you disliked each other." ]
Dislike? Oh, please. I was only playing hard-to-get.
[ "Right," Gale says, disbelieving. "Well! I can certainly speak with Laeral Silverhand and see if she could assist with transfiguring the cloak. I'm sure as long as we give her the opportunity to study it beforehand, she'd be amenable. I do recall her being charmed by you at the opera."
Astarion beams. ]
Well, of course she was. I'm really quite a delight.
[ A pause, and then— ] By the by, Gale, we've some other good news to share with you.
[ Oh, no doubt things were easier. There were less weird, off-the-cuff schemes for Gale to accommodate last-minute, but they were also very busy, you know, trying to save the world. So there's that. Iorveth scoffs a little, giving Gale the kind of Look he used to give Astarion in the past, a silent warning with his remaining eye that says 'I am only tolerating that sort of nonsense from you because I can, and not because I have to'.
The annoyance fades into the background once Gale concedes to helping with the cloak, and Iorveth is almost content to leave it at that without grilling him about timelines when Astarion pipes up about The Other Good News. Iorveth's brow shoots up, now? written plainly on his face; it doesn't seem the time for it, especially since Gale just called them out on being insufferable when together.
He doesn't get a chance to interject, though, since the wizard loudly grouses:
"Oh, for the love of― if by 'good news' you mean 'another menial task for a wizard of great repute to do, beneath him as it might be', I do have the right to decline. I take it this is good for me, as well?"
[ Gale absolutely has a point—to the rest of the world, he's still the Wizard of Waterdeep, archwizard and academic, even though to Astarion and Iorveth he's more like an annoying little brother that they can give noogies to—but Astarion sighs dramatically anyway, sliding down in his chair like he's the one being put out and not Gale. ]
If you're going to have such an attitude about it, Gale, then perhaps I won't invite you to the wedding after all.
[ He reaches lazily for Iorveth's hand. It's funny; back when they'd disliked each other, as Gale had said, he would have found the idea of declaring his love for someone in front of the whole world to be the most humiliating thing he could imagine. Nowadays, it's hard to control himself from yelling how much he loves Iorveth from the rooftops. ]
[ Gale has proven himself to be one of the most capable wizards in the world, worthy of being granted Godhood in the wrong situations, and yet. Iorveth watches as Gale throws his hands up, protesting the first half of Astarion's assertion without quite registering the implications of the second.
"Yes, because surely one isn't entitled to a bit of an attitude after―"
Iorveth laces fingers with Astarion, watching Gale shift gears in real time. The cogs of that ever-turning mind, switching directions.
"―Sorry, did you say wedding?" A laugh here, as if Gale is fully expecting Astarion to pipe back with 'haha jk'. "Whose, exactly?"
He asks, then slowly starts to turn red, as if he's just starting to realize how stupid the question sounds. Poor guy. Iorveth laughs again, bringing their held hands up to his lips, kissing where the ring would be sitting on Astarion's finger if he'd prepared one for this moment. ]
Should we tell him?
[ Again, the meanest elf in Toril. Enjoying watching the smartest man in the room stumble.
"Oh no, oh gods," Gale whines, torn between despair (how could he have been so rude?!?!) and elation (his friends are getting married!!!) (probably???) (oh gods). ]
[ Something they've shared ever since the beginning was their love for bullying Gale, and that hasn't changed, even now. It's become more affectionate bullying, less sharp on both of their ends, but it's still bullying. Case in point: ]
We've just told you of the upcoming happiest day of our lives, and your response is oh, no?
[ He's teasing. (Mostly.) But Gale turns even redder, shaking his hands and his head. "I can assure you, I meant no disrespect! I was simply—" Gale rubs his face, which is undoubtedly warm with embarrassment by now. "You two, before Shadowheart and Lae'zel?" ]
We've always had more chemistry.
[ Patently false. He's pretty sure Shadowheart and Lae'zel were hatefucking when he and Iorveth still only spoke to each other in odd, vaguely hostile ways. ]
[ From what he's heard from Lae'zel, she hated Shadowheart from the moment she laid eyes on Shadowheart on the Illithid ship-- which means she fell in love with her at first sight. Hard to beat that kind of romantic chemistry.
Whatever. The point is: ]
We're a certainty. [ Too much so, as Reginald pointed out. ] But you've made your opinion of our union abundantly clear, I think.
[ Still teasing. Playing at uninviting Gale, who shakes his head and waves his hands, doing everything a person possibly could do to say 'I take everything back'.
"No! Which is to say-- I'm very happy, make no mistake! I should have known..."
Babbling. Iorveth notes that Gale is getting choked up again, tears welling up in his soulful brown eyes.
"Do grant me the honor of attending, my dearest friends. Let it be known that if you need anything, anything at all..."
As Gale struggles not to cry, Tara's familiar voice rings from the stairs leading down into the sitting room:
"Gale! Are you letting your guests strongarm you into something ridiculous again? You really must hold your ground!" ]
[ A certainty. Astarion melts into his seat a little bit, a boneless pile of happiness. He suddenly wishes Gale weren't around, so that he could kiss Iorveth some more. Not that public displays of affection are a concern of his, really, but he imagines the sort of kissing he'd like to do would draw a reaction from Gale.
He tunes out most of what happens after that, a cartoon character with hearts for eyes, until he hears Tara's voice calling out. Coming to, he rolls his eyes at the assertion that they 'strongarm' Gale into anything. He's perfectly willing! It's not Astarion's fault that he's so easily manipulated by an attaboy. ]
We're only inviting him to our wedding, that's all, [ Astarion calls back, then adds, ] where pets shall not be allowed.
[ "Come now, Astarion, Tara is hardly a pet," Gale chides. ]
Well, we'll figure out the particulars later. [ Again: not a details person. ] It's all rather new. And, quite frankly, I haven't fantasized about a wedding since I was twelve.
[ Fantasized. Iorveth's turn, now, to look lovestruck by that notion; crazy, to think that anyone could fantasize fondly about being saddled with a one-eyed terrorist who's still liable to get thrown in jail if anyone recognizes his face. It's unbelievable, and Iorveth wants to lean over to kiss Astarion's temple―
―but is intercepted by a furious ball of fur and wings. A fuzzy little torpedo that swoops from stairs to armchair, lands with deadly precision on Astarion's lap, and kneads at vulnerable knees with sharp claws.
"Pet?! Why, the audacity! We'll teach you manners yet!"
Teeth bared, hissing. Iorveth blinks, but doesn't move to try to yank the tressym away― she might take all the skin off Astarion's thighs in the process, he realizes. ]
He's injured, [ Iorveth barks, syncing up perfectly with Gale's distressed "Tara, no!" ]
[ Astarion squeals in the most undignified way, shaking his injured leg wildly in an attempt to get Tara off of him, which only results in her digging in harder. Let it never be said that he can't make a situation worse. ]
Get off of me, you rotten thing—
[ "Tara, please—" Gale says, horrified, and then, "Astarion, please! You have to stop moving!"
Once Astarion obeys, Gale carefully extracts Tara's claws from the fabric of his trousers, a feat only possible because Tara would rather die than harm her precious Gale. "Tara," he scolds as he lifts her furry little body away. She perches on his shoulder, glaring daggers at Astarion. "You know he didn't mean it." ]
[ Cat on cat violence. Iorveth wonders how a conversation about a wedding could have gone so sideways, but of course it did; a whistling sigh between his teeth later, he moves closer to Astarion and takes his hand again, squeezing it with the intent to comfort. ]
A lesson not to antagonized winged creatures with claws, [ he notes, watching as Tara huffily starts licking one (very sweet) marshmallow-white paw. "There are limits to the things one can allow others to say," is her very terse reply, to which Gale implores "you call me your pet all the time! Don't think I haven't noticed."
Very offended that she's getting chastised, Tara turns her little nose up. Very Astarion-esque of her, Iorveth (delusionally) thinks. ]
I should fetch you a potion.
[ To Astarion, who's has to put up with a painful leg, burned by the sun, and clawed by Tara, all in the same day. Iorveth would have told anyone else to suck it the fuck up, but Astarion is always the exception to the rule. ]
[ Astarion glowers at Tara's prim little face for a moment longer, before sighing and turning to look at Iorveth, eyes big and imploring. Is it insane to try to cutely manipulate Iorveth multiple times in one day? Unfortunately, Astarion chronically pushes his luck. ]
Yes, you should, [ he agrees, bringing their joined hands to his face and resting his cheek against them. ] I'm in desperate need of your tender ministrations.
[ Gale looks a little perturbed. "Oh, please, not in the middle of the sitting room—" ]
Not that kind of tender ministration, you filthy little boy.
[ Is Iorveth actually going to let Astarion treat him like his pageboy tonight??? The answer is yes, because Astarion suffered enough for three lifetimes over the span of the last few days. The least Iorveth can do is fetch him a potion.
Also, he is cute. Very vexing. Iorveth watches Astarion nest against their joined hands for longer than strictly necessary before gently relinquishing his hold. ]
The wizard protests too much. I'm starting to think he wants to watch.
[ The thought of they fucking rigorously lives rent-free in Gale's head, apparently. Iorveth ignores Gale's sputtered objection, and turns to return to their room－
－where he runs into Damris on the stairs. Gods, this is like every nightmare scenario rolled into one. The tiefling glowers at him, then rolls his infernal-red eyes so hard they might fall out of his pretty head.
"Can you please tell your annoying companion to keep it down? His dramatic shrieking is giving me a headache."
Loud enough for everyone in the sitting room to hear, emphasis on shrieking. ]
Dramatic shrieking?! [ Astarion shrieks dramatically from the sitting room.
With great effort, he gets up from his chair, limping along (even worse now, with Tara's abuse!) out to the stairs, where he leans on the banister and shoots daggers at Damris's pretty face. If only he could throw an actual dagger at it. ]
What excellent timing. I'm sure your little hanger-on will show up any minute.
[ Maybe. Gale had sent a message, but that doesn't guarantee Linus's arrival. Portals are expensive, and it's only for Damris. ]
[ Cat on cat on cat violence. Iorveth is surrounded by cats. He looks over at Gale, who is similarly a dog surrounded by too many cats, but who also doesn't seem to mind having company over in his lonely bachelor tower.
It's too many cats. \Damris hikes his chin up with feline imperiousness, his literal tail swishing aggravatedly behind him like a pointed pendulum.
"I told you, I'm not going." Dramatic not-shrieking. He points at Astarion, the rude gesture made even ruder by the fact that he points over Iorveth's shoulder, as if he's just an elf-shaped object in his way. "I'm going to stay in Waterdeep and become an alchemist. I've ambitions, unlike you."
Iorveth raises a brow. ]
Planning to poison someone again?
[ He gets a scoff in return. "Maybe next time I'll concoct something more fast-acting, just for you." ]
[ Astarion might as well turn bright red in fury. The stairs are still impossibly difficult for him with this leg, but he laboriously takes a few steps up regardless, just enough so that he can tug on Iorveth's sleeve and urge him to step away from Damris. He wouldn't really be so stupid, Astarion hopes, as to try to hurt Iorveth in front of everyone, but it still makes his heart clench in anxiety regardless. ]
You won't become anything but a corpse if you speak to him like that again.
[ Maybe they should have just killed him in the first place. He's so fucking complicated, with his hopes and dreams. ]
I don't know what sort of nonsense Gale filled your head with, but we can't have a rabid vampire roaming the streets of Waterdeep.
[ Entirely hypocritical. Astarion's the only one here who's actually drained the blood of a Waterdhavian citizen. ]
You could eat Tara! And that would be horrible. [ Or would it... ]
[ Tugged (weak to the sleeve-pulling), Iorveth steps away from Damris and moves to let Astarion lean against his side, mindful of that injured leg; he notes that the tiefling looks less than pleased by the display, as if it rankles that there's anyone in the world more immediately fortunate than he is.
"I have self-control! I would never eat Gale's cat," he says, to which Tara yowls, offended: "A tressym, thank you very much!" Again, there are so many cats here, Iorveth can't even believe it.
"And, if anything, you're more of a threat than I am. A vampire, stalking around during the day, acting like he owns the city." Damris wrinkles his shapely nose at Astarion, then glances at Iorveth. "I bet you'll get bored of your canteen now that you can walk around and sample whoever you want in broad daylight."
Iorveth blinks, then barks a laugh: ] Pay him no mind, love. He hasn't enough brainpower to understand― [ a tip of his head, lips pressing against the side of Astarion's head. ] ―that he'll never be cared for in the way you care for me.
[ A rare admission, on Iorveth's part. Always more willing to say something about how he loves Astarion, and far more hesitant to speak on the possibility of Astarion loving him in return. Relinquishing I love you more for this specific moment. ]
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[ Headlines: "Local terrorist walks outside with his junk fully exposed, gets caught by Waterdhavian guards. Wizard friend does not post bail." Iorveth laughs at the thought of it, and how ignoble it would be if that was the reason the Woodland Fox finally got manacles clapped on him again, but. You know. Might be interesting.
It's fine, he thinks, if Astarion doesn't have grand goals. He doesn't have to. The great thing about freedom is that you can use it to do whatever the hells you want, and after two hundred years of vacillating wildly between excessive torture and mind-shattering isolation, it's reasonable to want to just. Do nothing.
The problem is Iorveth. (It always tends to play out that way.) Antsy, without purpose. A little terrified of being useless. He's put that fear in a box for now, happy in Astarion's company, but he knows it'll rear its ugly head soon enough. ]
...I'm going to trance a bit, to be more lucid for the evening. [ Admittedly tired from the hag shenanigans, still. His eye closes, and he slowly relinquishes his hold on Astarion. ] If you wish to spend some time in the sun, I'll not keep you here.
[ The sun!! Still an amazing feat, as far as Iorveth is concerned. ]
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—But I suppose I could stand to start working on that tan.
[ He's going to look soooo healthy and not at all dead, just you wait. Astarion sits up, gingerly swinging his injured leg off of the mattress and standing. He limps over to the wardrobe, plucking a pair of pants from within its depths. Gods forbid he traumatize poor Gale by gallivanting around the place pantsless, and besides, he'd rather not show off his ugly bruises. ]
And perhaps I might peruse Gale's exorbitant collection of dusty old tomes. If there's anywhere a secret cure to mortality might be found, it's there.
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Unfortunately (?) for Iorveth, he loves Astarion and the fact that he can manifest drama out of anything (pot, kettle, etc.), so that's that. ]
I'll not entertain any cure that involves kissing Mystra's feet, [ or whatever weird freaky shit that Gale got up to, when he was her Chosen. Iorveth has heard of certain god-favored individuals living far past their natural lifespans, but Gods, not Mystra. ]
But, hm. [ A little wave of one hand, as he presses himself into pillows. Missing Astarion already, but comforted by the residual scent of him on their bedsheets. ] Go tell Gale the good news, love. He'll be in need of it.
[ He's going to be ecstatic. He might even give Astarion a hug, and be very sweet, and embarrass Astarion with glowing amounts of pure, unfiltered friendship. ]
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[ It sounds like a gripe, complete with a dramatic groan, but Astarion can't suppress the upward turn of his mouth at the thought of Gale's entirely unselfish joy. He takes the cloak and slings it over his shoulders, tying it tightly so that it doesn't accidentally slide off. One last look at Iorveth, and—
He returns to the side of the bed to kiss him again, this time on the top of his head. Reginald definitely had a point about their codependence, but he's in no position to listen to it. He unlocks the door and leaves Iorveth to rest.
Gale does, in fact, hug him. Tightly, and Astarion makes a whole scene of pretending to be put out by it. Gale tears up a little, and Astarion pokes fun at that, too, although it's toothless. Afterward, he allows Gale to ask whatever questions he wishes, although he doesn't have many good answers for most of them, something Gale finds out when he asks a question about the Cloak of Dragomir and Astarion furrows his brow and says cloak of who?
He requests that Gale allow him to explore his library after that, but as he's hesitant to come right out and explain that he's looking for a way to cheat death, he simply says that he's interested in learning more about magic— and gods, is that a mistake. Gale comes back with a stack of books so high that he can barely see from behind them, explaining that it's a collection for beginner wizards — "Usually seven or eight years old, but the basic principles are invaluable no matter your age!"
By the time evening rolls around, Gale paces in front of him in the sitting room, launching into his third lecture on magic while Astarion can barely keep his eyes open. "Now, the Spellplague was a disaster heretofore never experienced by practitioners of the arcane arts. Cyric, as well as our good friend's former Lady, Shar herself— are you listening?" ]
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When he finally pulls out of the trance's gauzelike haze, Iorveth feels... not well-rested, per se, but less liable to get a migraine from fatigue. He pulls a fresh set of clothes on, goes to the washroom to freshen up, and tidies up his appearance a bit: he toys with the idea of braiding his hair, and ultimately weaves one neat braid that sits primly over his left ear, framing the unmarred side of his face.
With that done, he puts on his usual scent and makes his way downstairs, where Gale is apparently celebrating Astarion's victory by torturing him. ]
He's not listening, [ Iorveth answers on Astarion's behalf, brow raised and lips arched in a small smile. ] But I see I'm interrupting something important. Perhaps I'll go for a walk.
[ Mean!!! ]
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[ Gale looks utterly devastated that the past hour of his yapping hasn't gotten through to Astarion in the slightest. "...Well, I suppose that's the thesis statement of all of this, but I can't help but feel you're sorely lacking in the details." ]
Ugh, details shmetails. You know I'm more of a 'big picture' thinker.
[ It's debatable whether he's a thinker at all, actually, but that's unimportant. Astarion turns his attention to Iorveth, gaze affectionate as it wanders over the little braid in Iorveth's hair. The sight warms his cold, dead heart. ]
Are you feeling better, darling?
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Better now that you're near. [ Matter-of-factly; not even a line. Like noting the weather, or saying that water is wet. One more gentle pet, and he relinquishes the touch. ] I take it that Gale knows?
[ A question that improves Gale's mood, and lets him monologue grandly about how wonderful this all is, truly, and how deserved it is, and how it really is impressive that the cloak works, and how―
―Iorveth interrupts him, hand in the air and leaning against Astarion's armchair. ]
Astarion might have mentioned that he isn't pleased with the cloak's appearance.
[ Gale, stumbling over his unfinished statement, looks slightly taken aback. "You're worried about how the cloak looks? Truly?" ]
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Just look at it, Gale, and tell me that this is something you foresee me wearing every day for eternity.
[ "Granted," he says, "I doubt it will be winning any awards for fashion, but you must remember, this is an invaluable piece of arcane history—" ]
It's a hideous piece of arcane history. What am I supposed to do if it clashes with my outfit, Gale, turn to ash in the sun?
[ Gale gives him a flat look. "Surely you wouldn't rather burn to cinders than go outside wearing a clashing outfit." ]
Well, I don't know. I suppose that's just a risk we're all going to have to take, if you don't fix this issue.
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He will fix the issue, [ Iorveth states with authority, as if it's a foregone conclusion. It would have been a threat if he didn't like Gale as much as he does despite him being a human wizard― the worst kind of human, and the worst kind of wizard.
Gale looks a little offended at being spoken to that way, though, and Iorveth follows up with something less controversial (in his opinion) to smooth those wrinkles down. ]
I'll not allow my love to hide under a cloak for the rest of his days.
[ What's even the point of being able to daywalk if he has to be covered all the time? He'll never get the impossible tan he talks so much about if he has to be shrouded constantly. ]
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Dislike? Oh, please. I was only playing hard-to-get.
[ "Right," Gale says, disbelieving. "Well! I can certainly speak with Laeral Silverhand and see if she could assist with transfiguring the cloak. I'm sure as long as we give her the opportunity to study it beforehand, she'd be amenable. I do recall her being charmed by you at the opera."
Astarion beams. ]
Well, of course she was. I'm really quite a delight.
[ A pause, and then— ] By the by, Gale, we've some other good news to share with you.
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The annoyance fades into the background once Gale concedes to helping with the cloak, and Iorveth is almost content to leave it at that without grilling him about timelines when Astarion pipes up about The Other Good News. Iorveth's brow shoots up, now? written plainly on his face; it doesn't seem the time for it, especially since Gale just called them out on being insufferable when together.
He doesn't get a chance to interject, though, since the wizard loudly grouses:
"Oh, for the love of― if by 'good news' you mean 'another menial task for a wizard of great repute to do, beneath him as it might be', I do have the right to decline. I take it this is good for me, as well?"
Point. Iorveth laughs, despite himself. ]
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If you're going to have such an attitude about it, Gale, then perhaps I won't invite you to the wedding after all.
[ He reaches lazily for Iorveth's hand. It's funny; back when they'd disliked each other, as Gale had said, he would have found the idea of declaring his love for someone in front of the whole world to be the most humiliating thing he could imagine. Nowadays, it's hard to control himself from yelling how much he loves Iorveth from the rooftops. ]
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"Yes, because surely one isn't entitled to a bit of an attitude after―"
Iorveth laces fingers with Astarion, watching Gale shift gears in real time. The cogs of that ever-turning mind, switching directions.
"―Sorry, did you say wedding?" A laugh here, as if Gale is fully expecting Astarion to pipe back with 'haha jk'. "Whose, exactly?"
He asks, then slowly starts to turn red, as if he's just starting to realize how stupid the question sounds. Poor guy. Iorveth laughs again, bringing their held hands up to his lips, kissing where the ring would be sitting on Astarion's finger if he'd prepared one for this moment. ]
Should we tell him?
[ Again, the meanest elf in Toril. Enjoying watching the smartest man in the room stumble.
"Oh no, oh gods," Gale whines, torn between despair (how could he have been so rude?!?!) and elation (his friends are getting married!!!) (probably???) (oh gods). ]
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We've just told you of the upcoming happiest day of our lives, and your response is oh, no?
[ He's teasing. (Mostly.) But Gale turns even redder, shaking his hands and his head. "I can assure you, I meant no disrespect! I was simply—" Gale rubs his face, which is undoubtedly warm with embarrassment by now. "You two, before Shadowheart and Lae'zel?" ]
We've always had more chemistry.
[ Patently false. He's pretty sure Shadowheart and Lae'zel were hatefucking when he and Iorveth still only spoke to each other in odd, vaguely hostile ways. ]
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Whatever. The point is: ]
We're a certainty. [ Too much so, as Reginald pointed out. ] But you've made your opinion of our union abundantly clear, I think.
[ Still teasing. Playing at uninviting Gale, who shakes his head and waves his hands, doing everything a person possibly could do to say 'I take everything back'.
"No! Which is to say-- I'm very happy, make no mistake! I should have known..."
Babbling. Iorveth notes that Gale is getting choked up again, tears welling up in his soulful brown eyes.
"Do grant me the honor of attending, my dearest friends. Let it be known that if you need anything, anything at all..."
As Gale struggles not to cry, Tara's familiar voice rings from the stairs leading down into the sitting room:
"Gale! Are you letting your guests strongarm you into something ridiculous again? You really must hold your ground!" ]
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He tunes out most of what happens after that, a cartoon character with hearts for eyes, until he hears Tara's voice calling out. Coming to, he rolls his eyes at the assertion that they 'strongarm' Gale into anything. He's perfectly willing! It's not Astarion's fault that he's so easily manipulated by an attaboy. ]
We're only inviting him to our wedding, that's all, [ Astarion calls back, then adds, ] where pets shall not be allowed.
[ "Come now, Astarion, Tara is hardly a pet," Gale chides. ]
Well, we'll figure out the particulars later. [ Again: not a details person. ] It's all rather new. And, quite frankly, I haven't fantasized about a wedding since I was twelve.
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―but is intercepted by a furious ball of fur and wings. A fuzzy little torpedo that swoops from stairs to armchair, lands with deadly precision on Astarion's lap, and kneads at vulnerable knees with sharp claws.
"Pet?! Why, the audacity! We'll teach you manners yet!"
Teeth bared, hissing. Iorveth blinks, but doesn't move to try to yank the tressym away― she might take all the skin off Astarion's thighs in the process, he realizes. ]
He's injured, [ Iorveth barks, syncing up perfectly with Gale's distressed "Tara, no!" ]
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Get off of me, you rotten thing—
[ "Tara, please—" Gale says, horrified, and then, "Astarion, please! You have to stop moving!"
Once Astarion obeys, Gale carefully extracts Tara's claws from the fabric of his trousers, a feat only possible because Tara would rather die than harm her precious Gale. "Tara," he scolds as he lifts her furry little body away. She perches on his shoulder, glaring daggers at Astarion. "You know he didn't mean it." ]
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A lesson not to antagonized winged creatures with claws, [ he notes, watching as Tara huffily starts licking one (very sweet) marshmallow-white paw. "There are limits to the things one can allow others to say," is her very terse reply, to which Gale implores "you call me your pet all the time! Don't think I haven't noticed."
Very offended that she's getting chastised, Tara turns her little nose up. Very Astarion-esque of her, Iorveth (delusionally) thinks. ]
I should fetch you a potion.
[ To Astarion, who's has to put up with a painful leg, burned by the sun, and clawed by Tara, all in the same day. Iorveth would have told anyone else to suck it the fuck up, but Astarion is always the exception to the rule. ]
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Yes, you should, [ he agrees, bringing their joined hands to his face and resting his cheek against them. ] I'm in desperate need of your tender ministrations.
[ Gale looks a little perturbed. "Oh, please, not in the middle of the sitting room—" ]
Not that kind of tender ministration, you filthy little boy.
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Also, he is cute. Very vexing. Iorveth watches Astarion nest against their joined hands for longer than strictly necessary before gently relinquishing his hold. ]
The wizard protests too much. I'm starting to think he wants to watch.
[ The thought of they fucking rigorously lives rent-free in Gale's head, apparently. Iorveth ignores Gale's sputtered objection, and turns to return to their room－
－where he runs into Damris on the stairs. Gods, this is like every nightmare scenario rolled into one. The tiefling glowers at him, then rolls his infernal-red eyes so hard they might fall out of his pretty head.
"Can you please tell your annoying companion to keep it down? His dramatic shrieking is giving me a headache."
Loud enough for everyone in the sitting room to hear, emphasis on shrieking. ]
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With great effort, he gets up from his chair, limping along (even worse now, with Tara's abuse!) out to the stairs, where he leans on the banister and shoots daggers at Damris's pretty face. If only he could throw an actual dagger at it. ]
What excellent timing. I'm sure your little hanger-on will show up any minute.
[ Maybe. Gale had sent a message, but that doesn't guarantee Linus's arrival. Portals are expensive, and it's only for Damris. ]
Then we can discuss sending you to the Underdark.
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It's too many cats. \Damris hikes his chin up with feline imperiousness, his literal tail swishing aggravatedly behind him like a pointed pendulum.
"I told you, I'm not going." Dramatic not-shrieking. He points at Astarion, the rude gesture made even ruder by the fact that he points over Iorveth's shoulder, as if he's just an elf-shaped object in his way. "I'm going to stay in Waterdeep and become an alchemist. I've ambitions, unlike you."
Iorveth raises a brow. ]
Planning to poison someone again?
[ He gets a scoff in return. "Maybe next time I'll concoct something more fast-acting, just for you." ]
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You won't become anything but a corpse if you speak to him like that again.
[ Maybe they should have just killed him in the first place. He's so fucking complicated, with his hopes and dreams. ]
I don't know what sort of nonsense Gale filled your head with, but we can't have a rabid vampire roaming the streets of Waterdeep.
[ Entirely hypocritical. Astarion's the only one here who's actually drained the blood of a Waterdhavian citizen. ]
You could eat Tara! And that would be horrible. [ Or would it... ]
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"I have self-control! I would never eat Gale's cat," he says, to which Tara yowls, offended: "A tressym, thank you very much!" Again, there are so many cats here, Iorveth can't even believe it.
"And, if anything, you're more of a threat than I am. A vampire, stalking around during the day, acting like he owns the city." Damris wrinkles his shapely nose at Astarion, then glances at Iorveth. "I bet you'll get bored of your canteen now that you can walk around and sample whoever you want in broad daylight."
Iorveth blinks, then barks a laugh: ] Pay him no mind, love. He hasn't enough brainpower to understand― [ a tip of his head, lips pressing against the side of Astarion's head. ] ―that he'll never be cared for in the way you care for me.
[ A rare admission, on Iorveth's part. Always more willing to say something about how he loves Astarion, and far more hesitant to speak on the possibility of Astarion loving him in return. Relinquishing I love you more for this specific moment. ]
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